


No Laughing Matter

by JacquelineHyde



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Silliness with a side of absurdity, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquelineHyde/pseuds/JacquelineHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb and Sansa regale Margaery with some of their most gruesome war stories on the most terrifying day of the year. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Laughing Matter

**Author's Note:**

> For the asoiaf kink meme prompt: _The Stark children know better than be home on Valentine's Day unless they want to walk in on their parents screwing on the kitchen counter or couch or anywhere around the house...again._

 

 One of the first things Margaery learned about Sansa's family was that the Starks, as a unit, take things really, really seriously.

  
It's not a bad thing – it's one of the things that make them kind of adorable, and a lot of times, it's smart. It's just not something she's used to, at least in this extreme. Her family isn't careless or flippant by any means, but they have a healthy sense of perspective that helps them find the humour in just about anything.  
  
She loves Sansa's family, but finding the humour in things is  _not_  something she would count among their strengths.   
  
Like when Sansa's older brother Robb accidentally backed one of the family vehicles into a fence. He went out and found two part-time jobs and drafted up a payment plan to compensate for the increased insurance rates before he even told his parents about it. His parents had been understandably confused, as the damage to the vehicle had been so minimal that they hadn't even noticed it.  
  
Or the time that some idiot had issued a dare to Sansa's little sister Arya, something involving a barbed wire fence and a lawn gnome. Arya had cut herself pretty badly on the barbed wire, and hadn't managed to get the rest of the way over because Robb and their cousin Jon had gone up after her and hauled her back down. She had been furious that she didn't get to finish the dare, and had spent the rest of the week in training so intensive that Magaery could have sworn that she heard the opening strains of  _Eye of the Tiger_  every time she saw her, just so she'd be ready the next time the situation arose.  
  
Even Sansa's baby brother spreads destruction and chaos with the kind of single-minded dedication that Margaery rarely sees in guys her own age, let alone six-year olds. Rickon, his brothers and sisters tell everyone, is  _serious_  about trouble-making.   
  
She's pretty sure they get it from their dad. One of the first times she went to Sansa's after school, Mr. Stark accidentally elbowed Mrs. Stark in the nose while quickly lifting an enormous stack of dishes to keep them safe from Rickon as he barreled through the kitchen with little regard for the well being of the flatware. He spent the rest of the evening hovering with a completely unnecessary ice pack, suggesting the emergency room and looking so wretched that Arya had eventually suggested that her mom elbow her dad in the face too, just to make him feel better.  
  
Over the ten months of her friendship with Sansa, Margaery has concluded that it's pretty much a Stark thing to be far too serious about everything.  
  
But until this afternoon, she had no idea just how serious these people could be.  
  
Halfway to the movie theater, Sansa grabs her brother's arm so suddenly that he nearly swerves off the road into a bus stop.  
  
“Robb,” she whispers, like she's just seen the start of the end of the world. “I forgot my coat.”  
  
Always mindful of traffic safety since his accident ( _hands at ten-and-two, radio no louder than a quarter volume, eyes on the road, eyes on the rear view, eyes on the speedometer_ ), Robb spares her only a brief glance.  
  
“It's fine, Sansa. The movie's not for three and a half hours. We'll just swing back by school after we get Jeyne, and--” He stops short as Sansa shakes her head slowly. “Wait, it's at  _home_?”   
  
From the back seat, Margaery can see the abject misery in Sansa's nod.   
  
Once he's pulled carefully to the side of the road and turned off the car, Robb turns to his sister.   
  
“Dammit, Sansa, you know better than that!”   
  
"Give me a break, Robb! I had a lot on my mind this morning! I don't know if you noticed the math notes spread all over the breakfast table, but I was a little more worried about passing that test than what I was wearing."  
  
“Look, it's still fine," Robb insists desperately. "You can have my coat. Or maybe Jeyne'll let you borrow one. Or hey, why don't I get you a new coat? We'll be at the mall with tons of time to spare to get good seats; we can just go buy a coat first.”  
  
“That's sweet, Robb,” Sansa laughs weakly as Margaery stares, startled by the frantic note that grows with each suggestion, not to mention that a boy who dresses like  _that_  has just offered to take his little sister clothes shopping. “But it's no good. I need  _my_  coat.”  
  
Robb casts her a pleading look.  
  
“Why?”   
  
Sansa hangs her head.  
  
“Because our movie passes are in the pocket.”  
  
Drawing a deep breath, Robb mulls this over.  
  
“Okay, let's just think about this. Do you think they'd let us in anyway? I mean, maybe the radio station has some record of the winner, and we don't actually need them.”  
  
“We need the passes to get in, Robb, it says right on them! And when I went to pick them up, the guy reminded me four times to bring them with me or we wouldn't get in.”   
  
“Right,” he sighs. His face lights up hopefully. “Hey, how would you guys feel about going bowling instead?”  
  
Margaery shakes her head in disbelief, as Sansa gives a huff of dark amusement.  
  
“I don't think how  _we_  feel about bowling is your biggest problem, Robb. The only reason you're spending the most romantic day of the year with your little sister is that I won the tickets, and Jeyne really wants to see this one. If you tell her that all of a sudden, she doesn't get to see the movie, but you guys are still hanging out with us all day instead of doing something romantic, just the two of you, she will kill you.”  
  
“Fair point,” Robb admits grudgingly, and groans. “I guess we have no choice.  
  
By now thoroughly annoyed, Margaery leans forward over the parking brake.  
  
“Does someone want to explain to me why this is such a problem? We're five minutes from your house at the most! Robb, just call your girlfriend and tell her we'll be a few minutes late, and we'll go get Sansa's coat.”   
  
“It's not that simple,” Robb sighs, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Baffled, she looks back and forth between brother and sister.  
  
“ _Why_  isn't it that simple? What's the problem?”  
  
“It's Valentine's Day,” Sansa reminds her, twisting in the passenger's seat to send her a look of deep misery.  
  
A long silence follows as Margaery waits for further explanation.   
  
“And...?” she finally prompts when none is forthcoming.  
  
Robb and Sansa exchange a look that speaks of great past ordeal.  
  
“Well, you know how our parents are really traditional?” Sansa finally asks.  
  
Margaery nods; it's kind of hard to miss, after all.   
  
“Apparently, that makes them honour-bound to...get romantic on Valentine's Day,” Sansa explains, and Margaery hides a smile at the pretty flush that creeps over her cheeks. “They both arrange to take it off work months in advance, and they spend the whole day...well," she gestures vaguely, "you know.”  
  
It takes Margaery a long moment to process this, but once she fully comprehends the situation, that burst of uncontrollable laughter seems to come from nowhere, and isn't helped by the two deeply aggrieved blue-eyed frowns.  
  
“It's not funny, Marg!” Sansa protests.   
  
She shakes her head in disagreement, wiping her eyes.  
  
“It's a little funny, Sansa. You two are afraid to go home, because you're worried that your parents  _might_  be behaving like human beings somewhere in the house? I'm sorry, sweetie, but that  _is_  funny.”  
  
“It's not about fear,” Robb insists, twisting around to more effectively fix her with an angry look. “It's about self-preservation. They're traditional enough to think that they have to have tons of sex on Valentine's Day, but they're not traditional enough to do it in their bedroom, so if you show up when they're not expecting you home, you have no way of knowing what you'll walk in on.”  
  
Margaery sends Sansa a mischievous smile.  
  
“I bet I know.”  
  
Sansa giggles.  
  
“Well, yeah, you know  _what_ , but you never know  _where_.” She sighs, her smile lingering. “It's actually really sweet. Mom used to plan these really fun days for us every year when we were little. We got a zoo trip, we went to the amusement park with Aunt Lyanna and Jon, we got to go swimming with Uncle Edmure a couple times, and one year she even sent us skiing with Uncle Benjen for the weekend when Valentine's Day was on a Friday. I actually thought that sending your kids on awesome trips was the whole point of Valentine's Day until I was seven, which kind of made me wonder what cookies shaped like hearts and giving little cartoon cards to all your classmates had to do with it. And I always felt really bad that Mom and Dad weren't allowed to come with us, because they were missing all the fun.”   
  
At this, Margaery raises an eyebrow and grins, and is pointedly ignored by both siblings as Robb continues to elaborate.  
  
“Mom still plans things like that for Rickon, but the rest of us pretty much have our own stuff going on. And if we don't, we find things to do. It's kind of our Valentine's Day present to them. To ourselves, too," he adds with a snort of laughter. "But every year, someone forgets something at the house, and every year, we forget that there's nothing worth going back for that makes the trauma worth it.”  
  
“Last year, it was Arya,” Sansa says, shaking her head. “She said it would never happen to her. She said she didn't care if she forgot one of her kidneys, there was no way she was going back for it.” She gives a surprisingly wicked cackle at the recollection. “I guess her lucky gym socks are more important to her than her kidneys on game day, because she went home for them at lunch, and apparently Mom and Dad were at it on the rug in front of the fireplace.”  
  
“In their defense,” Margaery interjects, keeping a perfectly straight face, “that thing looks like it would feel  _amazing_  on your bare skin.”   
  
“Margaery!” Sansa exclaims, choking back a laugh, and Robb rests his head in his hands with an unearthly groan of pain.   
  
"Why do you want me to end up in therapy?" he demands from between his fingers. "What did I ever do to you?"  
  
"Sorry, Robb," she says cheerfully, before leaning forward eagerly. "So, who was the next victim?"  
  
“The year before last, it was me and Bran," Sansa replies, in the sort of voice that  _should_  be reserved for telling scary stories around a campfire. "Uncle Edmure didn't tell us we were going to the water park until he picked us up, so we had to stop off at home to get our suits and some towels. We found the boys' stuff in the laundry room, but I had to go grab my suit from my room, which took me past Dad's office.”  
  
There is no power on earth that could help her keep a straight face right now.  
  
“They were on your dad's desk, weren't they?”  
  
“How did you know?” Robb grumbles.  
  
"And the door was open?"  
  
"Right again," Sansa confirms with the most forced cheerfulness she's heard since Grandma offered to arrange a blind date for Loras with a friend's granddaughter.   
  
"Did he have her bent  _over_  the desk?" she inquires, wondering idly just how long this conversation can continue before these two pretty redheads blush so hard that their faces match their hair.   
  
"Oh, come on!" Robb wails.  
  
"What, did  _she_  have  _him_  bent over the desk?" she asks in feigned surprise.  
  
"Goddammit, Margaery!"  
  
“I'm just really glad we left Rickon and Uncle Edmure in the car,” Sansa sighs. “Bran and I just snuck back out again, but Rickon would probably have charged in and asked what they were doing. And Uncle Edmure would never have let Mom live it down, and then she would have murdered him.”  
  
"Okay, tell me another one," Margaery orders.   
  
"Well, the year before that, they got Jon," Robb says. "We were supposed to meet at school, but some messages got mixed and he went by the house. He never said exactly what he saw. He just muttered something about the kitchen counter, melted chocolate, and brain bleach.”   
  
“To this very day, he still can't eat a dipped cone," Sansa continues dramatically. "And they used to be his favourite! He can't even watch someone else eat a dipped cone, especially Mom, for some reason." Sansa shrugs, and then gasps and waves her hands excitedly. “Oh, but the worst was when Robb and Theon caught them on the couch.” Robb nods his emphatic agreement that, yes, the worst was indeed the time that he had to see it, and Sansa continues. “They went to grab a snack before going for a bike ride--”  
  
“After that, we just got the hell out of there and went for burgers,” Robb interjects quickly.  
  
“--and when they got back three hours later, thinking they would be safe this time, they walked in on Mom and Dad again.”  
  
“Theon wouldn't shut up about it for a week. He kept calling Dad Marathon Man, and insisted on shaking his hand eight times. Then there were all his dumb jokes about Mom being in such a good mood because she got 'Valentine's laid.'”   
  
“Alright, I have to ask. If your parents know this is so deeply traumatizing to you--”  
  
“That's just it,” Sansa breaks in. “They  _don't_  know. I don't think they even know it ever happened. We don't exactly stick around to say hi. We just get the hell out of there as fast as we can, and swear that next year, we'll remember everything.”  
  
Margaery nods thoughtfully.  
  
“Except Theon.”   
  
“Right, except Theon,” Robb agrees, shaking his head, mouth twisting into a half-grin.  
  
“Well, like you said, Robb, we've got no choice if we still want to see the movie,” Sansa reminds him nervously. “So we should get going before Jeyne starts wondering where we are.”   
  
Robb regards his sister sympathetically as he starts the car.  
  
“You're right. Let's go.”  
  
The brief car ride passes in a tense silence that makes it seem far longer than it particularly needs to, and as they pull up to the Starks' house, Sansa assumes an expression of grim determination.   
  
“Okay, I'll be right back. My coat's just in the back closet, so if I'm longer than a couple of minutes, I'm probably hiding in the linen closet, weeping into a tea towel.”   
  
“Sansa,” Margaery calls after her, climbing out of the back seat. “Get back in the car. I'll go get your coat.”  
  
Sansa blinks big, bewildered blue eyes at her.  
  
“ _You_  want to go in? By yourself?”   
  
Margaery laughs.  
  
“Well, I don't know about that, but I'm not about to have a panic attack just thinking about it.”  
  
“I'm not having a panic attack, Marg, it's just really embarrassing.”  
  
“You just said your coat is hanging in the back entry,” Margaery reminds her patiently. “I barely even have to go inside. I'll just duck in, get your coat, and duck out.” She squeezes Sansa's hand and flashes her a brilliant smile. “Consider it my Valentine's Day gift to you.”  
  
She can see guilt warring in Sansa's face with the temptation to take this offer. Temptation wins out, and after a moment of hesitation, she hands over her key ring.  
  
“Make sure you jingle those in the lock for thirty seconds, and then wait another forty-five before going in. That'll give them time to hear you and put on pants. If you hear thumping against the back door, that means they're doing it in the back entry, and that means we're going bowling and Jeyne will just have to kill Robb. And whatever you do, if you hear any sounds,  _please_  don't follow them.”  
  
Margaery pretends to consider these instructions.  
  
“Okay, so I go inside as quietly as I can, search the entire house until I find your parents, and then I stay for coffee and cake.”  
  
Sansa fixes her with a reproachful look.  
  
“I don't know why you think this is so funny, but I hope you don't encounter anything that changes your mind.”  
  
Margaery laughs, and pulls Sansa into a quick hug.  
  
“I have told you that you're adorable, right? I'll be careful, I promise.”  
  
Reluctantly, Sansa climbs back into the car, and Margaery heads around the back of the house.   
  
 _Jingle the keys in the lock for thirty seconds_ , she thinks, shaking her head, and silently unlocking and opening the door.  
  
Once inside, she spots Sansa's jacket immediately – this adorable little green thing that Margaery helped her pick out a couple of weeks ago – and is in the process of slipping it off the hanger, when a noise catches her attention.   
  
Curiosity, not to mention the sudden and overwhelming need to torment Robb just a little more by reporting back on exactly what flat surface Mr. and Mrs. Stark are occupying at the moment, swiftly gets the best of her, and she tiptoes around the corner.  
  
It seems to be coming from the laundry room, so she approaches the open door, keeping carefully out of sight.  
  
It doesn't take more than a second to confirm that Robb and Sansa were  _not_  just exaggerating, and biting her lip against a laugh, she ducks back around the corner and out of the house.  
  
“Your coat,” she announces, draping it over the seat in front of her.  
  
"Thank-you, Margaery!" Sansa exclaims, looking close to tears of gratitude.  
  
"Yeah, thanks, Margaery" Robb agrees enthusiastically.  
  
"Did it...did it go okay?" Sansa asks hesitantly.  
  
"Everything was just fine," Margaery assures her soothingly, and then, with a wicked smile, "and for those interested, the laundry room. Specifically, on top of the dryer."  
  


* * *

  
"Did one of the kids just come in here?" Ned asks, leaning into his wife's embrace as their racing hearts finally begin to slow.  
  
Cat frowns, reaches behind her to give the dial a quick twists to turn off the dryer, makes a point to ask Ned where exactly he picked up the idea to turn it on in the first place and then send that mysterious person a fruit basket, and tries to recall. She can't be sure - she was a little distracted at the time, and the slight movement at the door vanished before she could really register its presence - but she thinks she might have caught sight of long brown curls and an impeccable fashion sense out of the corner of her eye.   
  
"I think it might have been Margaery. Sansa's friend."  
  
"Margaery?!" Ned repeats, reaching instinctively for the scattered items of clothing littering the floor, and casting an alarmed look over his shoulder, as though fully expecting to find their older daughter's entire social circle standing in the doorway, giggling and holding up signs rating his performance.  
  
She bites back a laugh at his expression, hopping off the dryer and heading out to investigate.  
  
"I suppose we only have ourselves to blame, telling the multitude of kids showing up on a daily basis to just come in rather than ringing the bell every time."  
  
"I'd think it would be common sense that it only applies when  _our_  kids are here," Ned grumbles.  
  
Catelyn nods absently, scanning the kitchen for signs of life. Her eyes light on the empty hanger that was not there this morning, and the situation clicks into place.   
  
"It's alright, she just came in for Sansa's coat."  
  
He shakes his head.   
  
"Well, at least it wasn't Theon this time."  
  
"No, thank God," she agrees emphatically, reaching for him and walking them both back into the kitchen counter. "Now, come here, Marathon Man. I'm not finished with you yet."


End file.
